


the soldier

by thetealord



Series: king and lionheart [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Illnesses, M/M, bad flirting attempts, unwanted healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetealord/pseuds/thetealord
Summary: Ardyn Lucis Caelum doesn't know how to flirt without being creepy and weird.Cor Leonis gets himself into a lot of situations he didn't really want to be in and has a bad time with daemons.





	

“Will you help him?” Monica hissed under her breath. “There’s no one else who can do this, Cor. You’re the only one who can get him out safely.”

Cor frowned. “I don’t know, Monica,” he muttered. “Exchanging information with you is one thing. This will be very dangerous.”

“What you’re doing is dangerous already,” she insisted. “If the King found out—”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know. All right, fine. I’ll do it. I’ll get him to Lucis soil.”

“Good,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated.

“He’ll be expecting you. Here.” She passed him a folded up piece of paper which he swiftly pocketed. “That has the details on it. It’s your chance to prove your loyalty. We _need_ this data.”

“I understand.” He sighed. It was unusual. Monica never gave him assignments. She wasn’t authorized to because, technically speaking, his position didn’t exist. He was a Captain in the Niflheim army, yes. But there was more to it than that. Only in the past ten years had he risen to his position, and that had started when Monica found him, talented, but reluctant, eager to follow orders, but still unsure. He’d never been like the rest of them. Never strived for any kind of world domination, never took an obscene liking to war. And she’d picked up on that. And that was when he’d found out that Monica, who acted so perfectly as one of Verstael’s researchers, was a Lucian spy.

Somehow, he’d gotten himself involved, too. It started with slipping her a few tidbits here and there, with becoming friends. But as time went on, he gained himself a reputation for the sheer purpose of putting himself in a place of power, in order to learn information that he then passed on to her, to pass to Lucis. Even Lucis didn’t know he was a spy. Only Monica, and him. It worked well, even if it was a thankless job. He finally found some peace in his work. Between the development of the magitek infantry and his conquest, Regis had only grown darker and more power-obsessed over the years, spurred by Clarus’s ambition and Noctis’s equal eagerness for power as he grew older. In the past twenty years, it had been nothing but war and bloodshed.

And Cor was more than happy to let them all think he’d gone the same route as his ailing Emperor with his dark obsessions.

But it would be different, after this. Slipping war plans to Monica between the cracks was much different than escorting a turn-tail scientist onto Lucian soil. He would be carrying precious cargo, too, samples of the daemonic essence used to craft their MT soldiers, and Monica had been given orders from the Lucian side to bring him and his materials back safely, a job which had now been passed to Cor.

He turned around the street corner and stopped to wait for the van that would pick him up and take him back to his apartment in Gralea from where he’d been posted for the day. Monica would have her own way back, returning to the labs.

The rain was starting to pick up. It had been drizzling all day, but finally the clouds were opening and it was starting to rain properly. It had been a hot, muggy day and the rain was warm, too, the air thick with humidity.

As he stood and waited, someone shuffled up beside him, and the droplets stopped smacking against his head as an umbrella over to cover them both.

“Waiting for the bus?” The other man asked.

Cor, pointedly, did not look at him. He was in parade rest, and in uniform. Most of the common people did not talk to soldiers and he liked it that way. He also wore the crest of a Captain. But apparently, this man couldn’t take a hint.

“None of your business who I’m waiting for,” Cor said.

“Oh, so it’s a who,” the man said. “Well I’m certain the Emperor doesn’t stoop to picking you up himself.” He giggled and Cor sighed and shifted on his feet.

“No,” he said, flatly. “He does not.”

“I always thought a Captain of your regard would be picked up in a drop ship of some sort.”

“Again,” Cor said, with an edge to his voice, “It’s none of your concern.”  


“Oh,” the man said, innocently, “but I’m just a curious citizen, that’s all. My apologies.”  


Finally, Cor glanced over at him and got a better look at him. The man had wild maroon hair, a color he’d never seen before on anyone, at least not quite that shade of red. It was done up in a messy ponytail, and he was wearing an enormous pair of glasses with thick, plastic maroon frames that matched. Horrifically. The clothes he wore just looked like an old black coat he’d pulled out of a dumpster. It was full of holes, and he was wearing at least three scarves.

“Are you trying to beg coin off of me?” Cor asked at last, furrowing his brow. “Because I don’t give money to beggars.”

“Oh,” The man looked surprised, motioning to himself. “Me? No, of course not. I wouldn’t dream of begging money off of _you_ , Captain.”

“A… prostitute, then?”

“Heavens, no!” He looked even more shocked at that, and did an overly dramatic slouch, cocking his hip in a way that left Cor skeptical.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I absolutely assure you, I’m nothing of the kind.” The man grinned and winked. “But if you’re _that_ interested, I wouldn’t say _no_. You are very handsome, Captain.” He fluttered his eyelashes and Cor frowned.

“No,” Cor said, firm and straightforward. “You just look… nevermind.” Better to cut that off than finish the sentence. And better still to go back to ignoring the irritating man, so he clasped his hands and shifted back into parade rest.

The man beside him did not leave. He just stood there, holding the umbrella over both their heads like one might for a lover or a close friend, and he could feel the man’s amber eyes on him. Hopefully, he looked up the street, but there was still no sign of his ride. So, he texted them to see where they were at, and it didn’t seem they were too far away.

Hesitantly, he looked at the man beside him again, who was now staring at Cor’s phone like it was utterly fascinating. Cor frowned, and opened his mouth. It took him a moment to awkwardly get out, “Thank you for lending me your umbrella. I hope you have a ride home to… wherever you live.” Even if the man was strange, it was part of his duty to protect the citizens and be kind to them, he supposed.

“You like my umbrella?” the man asked, and held out the handle for him to take. “Here.”

Cor just looked at him and then, because he wasn’t really sure what else to do, took it, curling his fingers around the grip. “Thank… you?”

“And don’t worry about me,” the man assured him. “I’ll get home just fine.” He winked and Cor frowned again.

“You live nearby, then?” He was starting to wonder why he was striking up conversation with this random stranger.

“Not exactly,” the man said, and waved his hand. “But really, I’ll be just fine. Look after yourself, Captain. I’m not anyone you should concern yourself with.”

“Mmhmm.” He looked him over a moment more, still not sure what to make of him, when he saw the military van pull around the corner. It pulled over a few steps away from where he was standing, and when he went to open the door to the front seat and get in, the soldier picking him up gave him an amused look.

“Nice umbrella. That new?”

Cor just stared at him. “Oh,” he said, “Well, sort of. There was a man…” He turned back to where the red-headed man had been standing by the edge of the sidewalk, but when he did, there was no one there. The soldier leaned over, too, raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.

“Come on, this weather is nasty.”

Cor collapsed the umbrella and got in, shutting the door behind him, and as they drove off, he felt incredibly unsettled.

—

It was more difficult than he’d imagined, getting Clemens out of Niflheim. They went together, under the cover of night. Cor brought the few possessions he needed, certain that he would have to stay in Lucis for some time. And if it went wrong, he knew he may never be able to return to Niflheim.

That night, too, the clouds were heavy in the sky and the rain was coming down strong. It was a useful cover, if a strange twist of fate that the man at the bus stop had given him his umbrella. It was of good make, and shielded them both as they headed for the docks, where the boat Monica procured for them waited. Not a good night to set sail, as the sea would be rough, but they had no choice.

It was slow going, but within two days they had reached the Lucian coastline. They rented a car with the fake ID Cor had been supplied and started the long drive to Insomnia. It was then that it all went to shit.

Niflheim had a small camp set up near the border, far enough from the Wall to not have to deal with it, just making themselves known and making a mess of the place. By that time, word had long reached them of Captain Cor Leonis’s sudden disappearance, along with the scientist Cato Clemens. Though they made for Insomnia as quickly as they could, where they would meet with Monica’s contact, it was only a matter of time before Niflheim was on their tail.

Almost better them than Lucis, though. Ever since they’d crossed the border, Cor had felt horribly trapped between two boulders. Niflheim likely suspected he had either defected or was dead when he’d ceased reporting in and cut off all communication, and Lucis held plenty of grudges from how he’d troubled them over the years. He’d helped set up that Niflheim camp, after all, and plenty of others. He’d fought some of the highest ranked of the Lucian military himself, knew their faces and their names, and they knew his.

And yet, despite all of that, Monica had insisted he was the best person to carry out this job. He doubted that more and more every day.

It was really no surprise when they were ambushed on the road. Niflheim ordered their surrender, ordered he turned over Clemens, and what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t leave the helpless scientist to defend himself on his own, nor could he think of a reasonable lie that would cover for his absence.He knew it was the worst thing imaginable for an agent to have his cover blown, but he’d been put in a situation he couldn’t easily get out of, so he did something a small part of him had always desperately wanted to do. Despite what few friendships he had there and an uneasiness about the future, kissed his life in Niflheim goodbye to defend Clemens and the materials he possessed that had to be delivered to Insomnia no matter what.

They’d always said he was like a one man army, and he cut through the soldiers like butter. It was only afterwards, when the Niflheim soldiers and their MTs were dead or cut apart on the pavement, sparking helplessly in the light of the setting sun, that he found Clemens had been shot in the commotion.

He quieted the man, pressed his hand to the wound, but something was wrong. It wasn’t just blood beneath his palm when he lifted it, but a black, inky mess, and he realized with horror as the man’s eyes glazed over, that his front pocket, just over his heart, was where he’d kept the vials of demon essence Cor was supposed to deliver.

Clemens died. And Cor salvaged what he could. The single remaining vial, which he took with him as he continued his journey to Insomnia on foot, leaving the beat up rental car behind.

It took a few days for it to set in. Just a tingle at the base of his spine, a tension in his shoulders, a shortness of breath. The skin on his palm, where he’d touched Clemens’s open wound and the thick black matter that had poured out from the shattered vial, was starting to turn grey.

—

It was raining, one afternoon as he paused to rest, overlooking the wide expanse of Duscae from the side of the road. It wasn’t like Nilfheim at all. So much color, so much life. The weather was cooler, dryer, even there, in the marshlands. Even the rain was more like a mist, settling over the world around him, and he held the black umbrella over his shoulder to keep the rain off his face. The umbrella was one of the few items he’d taken with him as he continued on. It was too useful not to.

When he heard footsteps, at first he didn’t react. Only soldiers would recognize him, and there were no Lucian soldiers out there that he’d seen. There would be more near the border to Insomnia, and without Clemens to vouch for him he knew he would have to depend on Monica to get him through. He’d kept her aware of the situation, and she had him on standby until she could get in contact with the right people. It made it easier, he supposed, now that he’d officially defected.

“Unfortunate weather today, isn’t it?” a familiar voice said as someone leaned up against the railing next to him. “But the view is lovely regardless. I just hope my umbrella has kept you plenty dry.”

Cor shifted the umbrella so he could look over at the man. The man he’d met on the street corner, in Niflheim. Yes, the very same one. There was no mistaking that hair, those clothes, those glasses, those eyes.

He frowned. “Who the hell are you?” he asked.

“Oh?” the man raised his eyebrows at him. “You don’t remember me?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Cor growled. “You’ve been following me.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “This is but a happy coincidence. I just recognized my old umbrella there and thought I would check in to see how she’s holding up.”

“Well enough.” Cor narrowed his eyes, though, watching him carefully. “You never told me your name.”  


“Didn’t I?” The man looked like he was completely innocently trying to remember, then smiled. “Call me Ardyn. And you?”

“Cor,” he said.

“Cor,” the man purred, repeating it on his tongue, and Cor shuddered at the way he said it, like he was tasting it carefully, like he wanted to devour him.

“You want your umbrella back,” Cor said, as a statement of fact, though mostly, he was trying to figure out why this man had now approached him for the second time, halfway across the world, and what he could be after. He didn’t seem malicious in any way at all. Just… strange.

“No,” Ardyn said. “I told you to keep it. So, keep it. But…” He moved closer, gripped the handle just above Cor’s fingers and leaned in much too close for Cor’s comfort. “Do learn to share. It’s rather damp out here, you know.”

Cor just stared at him, feeling viscerally uncomfortable but at the same time, more confused than anything. He just didn’t know how to react to the sudden proximity.

Ardyn paused, then, watching him carefully for a moment, and when he reached down to take Cor’s hand and turn it palm-up in his, he didn’t even think about it, he was so baffled. At least, until Ardyn started staring at his palm instead, where the skin was turning grey. He said, very plainly and quietly, “You’re ill.”

Cor jerked his hand back, shoved it into his pocket. “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s the Starscourge,” the man was muttering under his breath, and hummed thoughtfully as he searched Cor’s face again, though Cor very resolutely did not look at him. “I wasn’t expecting that.” He moved in even closer, so close Cor tensed up entirely and was a hair’s breadth from either punching him right in the jaw or making a break for it.  


“I could heal you,” Ardyn said, practically into his hair.  


“No,” Cor said, too quickly. He barely even knew this man, didn’t know who he was or what he wanted, and he pulled away, putting some distance between them again. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Hm.” The other man shrugged. “That’s certainly not true. But suit yourself, I suppose.”

“I’ll be on my way,” Cor said pointedly, because he didn’t want to lose his temper in the face of a citizen, no matter _who_ he was, and he moved out around the man, hefted his bag over his shoulder, and started walking.

“If you change your mind,” Ardyn called after him. “I’m sure we could come to an agreement.”

Cor didn’t even want to think about what that meant as he set off down the road.

—

It got worse, fast. The further he walked, the harder it grew to put one foot in front of the other every day. He had started hearing whispers in his head, telling him to do horrible things, and the infection had spread, climbing up along the inside of his arm, along his fingers, the grey turning to black. His skin in the worst areas was growing sticky to touch, and he wrapped it all up in bandages from his first-aid kit. After a few hours, the black would begin to seep through, turning the bandages grey.

Every day, he grew closer to the Wall, and every day it grew harder to breathe, to think. His arm hurt, and it was worse at night, only subsiding when he stepped into the rune-protected camp sites scattered across the land.

Still, he made his way towards the Wall, and even if he became a daemon, even if he died, he would make it to the city first, he would deliver the vial he kept wrapped carefully in his bag, the substance Niflheim was using to create their MTs. He honestly didn’t even know what it would do to him. Would he become a full daemon? Or just a mindless soldier? There was no real way to tell. But as long as he completed his mission, well. He had long left Niflheim in the dust, anyway.

—

Ardyn watched him, from time to time. When he wasn’t dealing with his extremely important Kingly duties, he would often find Cor and stay just out of his line of sight.

The Starscourge was not a disease to be taken lightly. It was rare these days, though it still popped up from time to time. Cor’s case, though, was an odd one. And though he’d originally found the Captain or, former-Captain he supposed, for the sake of his and Ravus’s wager, Cor’s illness had left Ardyn interested in him for other reasons.

Cor was stubborn, he could tell that much, and loyal, but to who, he couldn’t say. He’d come a long way from Niflheim into Lucis, escorting the man who Ardyn suspected was the empire’s runaway scientist. An interesting turn of events, considering what he’d learned of him from Caligo and Loqi. It seemed Cor had fooled them as well. Indeed, there was undoubtedly much more to this man than he would ever let on. And he had such beautiful eyes. The same sharp, ice blue that had made Ardyn fall for Izunia, all those years ago. Eyes that could see right through you.

Cor was a fool to keep going, yet, he clearly had a goal in mind, something he had to do, though Ardyn did not know what it was. Still, he had begun to suspect. Aranea had always been the one in charge of his spy network and he rarely bothered getting his fingers stuck in those pies unless he absolutely had to. She did a fine job with it, and he had other matters to deal with. But he’d heard from elsewhere in that chain of command that not only had a Niflheim scientist defected to Lucis, a Captain in the military had as well. And if that scientist was now dead, his body left behind on the roadside in Duscae, the Captain he watched over must be the one carrying on that scientist’s mission.

He would not succeed. It was obvious to Ardyn, if not to Cor. Though likely by now, the daemon in his mind had clouded his judgement. By the time he reached the Wall he would be fully corrupted, and even if he reached it before then, the Wall would not let him pass.

Still, he did not approach Cor again, not until Cor was less than a mile from the Wall itself, and only then, late in the evening when the other man was about to stop to rest. He made a fire, and roasted a fish on a spit over the open flame as he watched Cor trek towards him across the desert landscape of Leide. The sun was setting over the horizon, and he knew the man would have no choice but to stop.

Ardyn was very intimately familiar with the Starscourge. He had it, too, though an altered version of it, and one that would not advance as long as he retained the blessing of the Crystal. It was Ifrit’s curse, the stagnation, the agonies of immortality, and the voices in his head that he’d slowly learned to quell over the years. At the least, though, he’d had Aranea and Caligo alongside him, to share in every waking moment. He didn’t like to think about how it would have been if he’d been forced to spend all those years alone. Still, immortality was dull, and even though he was King, existing for the past thousand of them or so had felt not only lacking, but lonely, despite his constant companions. Cor was new and immediately fascinating and he didn’t intend to let the man die or succumb to the Starscourge on his watch.

“You again,” Cor said, after slowly approaching the camp site for some time. He stood at the edge of the flat stone surface while Ardyn leaned back on one hand and turned the fish over with the other.

“Me again,” he said. “What’s the matter, not happy to see me?” He tilted his head, hair drifting this way and that in the breeze.  


“No.” Cor said. There were bandages around his right hand that wrapped up around his wrist and disappeared beneath the cuff of his jacket. Bandages turned black, ooze seeping through. Cor didn’t sit, just stood there, beautiful and wary, like an injured anak separated from its herd.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Cor,” Ardyn said, obvious and straightforward, though he supposed his tone still carried a bit of his usual overacting and was possibly not the most reassuring. “Have you considered my offer?”

“What,” Cor growled, narrowing his eyes at him. “Who are you, Ifrit himself? Want me to sell my soul to you?”

_That_ made Ardyn tense far more than he would have liked, made him smile dangerous with far too much teeth as he forced himself to keep from glaring too much. Uncalled for, definitely uncalled for, but he reminded himself that Cor was injured and unfamiliar with how to handle daemons in your head with proper finesse, and very much frightened. Injured animals often lashed out and this was no exception. Besides, Cor certainly didn’t know that remark would have hit so close to home.

“Don’t,” Ardyn said carefully, “try my patience, Captain. My intentions are nothing of the kind, and I’m certainly no god. I’m a healer.”

“What, like a witch?” Cor snorted.

“Something of the kind,” Ardyn said, taking no offense to the term. “Really, now, I would think such an innocent offer would be something to take up without question, especially with an illness as serious as yours.”

“It’s my fault,” Cor muttered. “I’ll deal with the consequences of my own actions.”

Ardyn pulled his fish off the fire to cool, leaning back further as he watched him. Stubborn fool. “You won’t get through the Wall,” he reminded him. “It keeps out daemons. And you might as well be one as far as its concerned. That Starscourge spreads quickly, and even if, Cor, even if you were to make it through the Wall, you’d only bring the Starscourge into _my_ city and I can’t have that.” He smiled demurely. “Oh, perhaps I’ve said too much.”

“You’re from the city,” Cor said, squinting at him like he was trying to remember where he might have seen that face before, a face shown often enough in paintings and sculpture and stained glass windows because he _was_ the Immortal King. But no one ever really depicted him as he truly was. There were similarities yes, but who wanted a King who looked like he’d just crawled out of bed? Or so some might have thought. Ardyn found his particular style fashionable, wonderfully over the top, and incredibly lazy all at the same time and that was a feat not many could accomplish or appreciate.

“I am,” he said, without clarifying. Cor would figure it out. Eventually. Maybe have a better chance of it when he wasn’t actively turning into a daemon. He must have had a fever by now, on top of the aches and the voices and the creeping infection, poor dear.

“You,” Cor said, and Ardyn could see it in his eyes, how hard he was trying to think. The other man moved over to him, dragging his feet as he had been his entire trek to the campsite and there, dropped to his knees. In what seemed to be a sudden moment of clarity, he pulled his bag off his shoulder and pulled out a thin vial wrapped in a soft cotton handkerchief. “Please.” He held it out. “I need this delivered,” his voice was shaking, he had to keep pausing to swallow. His hands trembled, he was sweating. “To… to….”

His eyes were glazing over, and he gripped his head, lowering himself to lie down on the stone, breathing hard. Ardyn took the vial, if only to keep it from breaking, and gently placed it back in the other man’s back. “You’ll deliver it yourself,” he said, “when you’re well.”  


Cor stared at him, defiance in his blue eyes for just a moment before he closed them, curling up, his breath shallow, clutching his arm. He was dying, dying and too stubborn to let anyone help him.

“Fool,” Ardyn hissed, sliding up the sleeve of Cor’s jacket and taking his injured arm in both hands. He let the warmth of his magic flow into him and pulled that screaming daemon out in return, tugging hard on the force he could feel infesting the other man’s body. Another to add to his collection, but the infection hadn’t yet grown fully into a daemon. It should hardly bother him at all. He’d healed much worse in the past.

Still, it shouldn’t have even gotten that bad in the first place, and he gritted his teeth as he felt himself sweating, now, felt the chills as the daemon’s essence joined the others already in him. “You fool.”

When he was finished and let him go, all that visibly remained of Cor’s Starscourge were stained bandages that could not harm him, and a peaceful sleep as he fell into unconsciousness. Still, the mark that half-formed daemon left on his soul would remain forever. His healing wasn’t as perfect as it used to be, tainted by the constant presence of the Starscourge within him, and Ardyn’s patients, as years went on, had been blessed, or cursed, with longer and longer life spans. It was as if, when he healed them, he somehow gave them a fragment of his own immortality in exchange for the daemon that had invaded their bodies.

There was nothing he could do about that, though. He’d made his choice, to save Cor’s life whether Cor liked it or not, and the deed was done. There was only one other thing he had yet to ask of him, but that would have to wait.  


—

Cor awoke the following morning with little memory of what had happened. He recalled dragging himself across the desert, waves of pain, sleeping, and the warmth of Ardyn’s hands on his wounds. Ardyn wasn’t there anymore, but he’d been tucked carefully into a sleeping bag, the fire long put out.  


When he sat up, he found the dizziness and the fever had passed, and his arm felt pleasantly normal. Indeed, there were no signs of the former infection anywhere, and he discarded the stained bandages with great relief.

It was so much easier, without the Starscourge weighing him down, to make for the capital. He passed through the Wall and rented a new car, drove to the outskirts of Insomnia, where Monica had arranged for him to meet with his contact, instead of meeting her within city limits.

Passing over that vial into the proper hands was a great weight off his shoulders, one he couldn’t even begin to describe. But before he could depart, she had one more thing to say. “I have been informed that the King would like a word with you, personally.”

Cor swallowed, tense and unsure. What on earth could the Immortal King of Lucis want with him? Yet, what choice did he have? He allowed the woman to escort him through the city gates, and together they drove through Insomnia, until they reached the Citadel. Someone met them at the gate to park his car, and he followed her through.  


In all his years, he’d never imagined he would end up there. Even when he’d started working for Lucis, he had always intended to stay in Niflheim, to live the life he’d always known. But since he’d left that place behind, since he’d suffered through the Starscourge, it was clear nothing would end up as he’d planned it.  


The Citadel was ten times more grand than it had ever seemed in paintings and pictures, and he couldn’t help but marvel at it quietly as he followed the Lucian woman through its black marble halls, to the King’s throne room where he held audience.

Even the Emperor of Niflheim, he had only been permitted to meet with on important occasions, and each time the fear coursed through him as it did now. Despite that, he remained calm, and when he was allowed in, bowed before the King, as was proper.

But when he looked up at him, he realized the man who sat the throne was familiar to him, and he froze, face twisted in disbelief. Ardyn wore no glasses, and a somewhat finer overcoat than the one filled with holes, but the face and the hair and the eyes were all the same. “You’re the… King,” Cor managed to get out, and Ardyn—His Majesty—looked far too pleased with himself.

“Yes,” the man said, grinning wildly, leaning his cheek on one hand. “Did you really only figure it out just now? I’m disappointed in you, Cor. I thought a man as smart and sharp as you would have easily guessed that I am, yes, Ardyn Lucis Caelum, the Immortal King.”

HIs ego practically dripped from every word but still there was nothing Cor would do but stare at him, dumbfounded. The King didn’t even seem to mind the slight bit of disrespect.

“Then you may have now figured out why I’ve called you here,” the King continued. “I saved your life, after all. And you owe me a debt.” He pointed to him and Cor frowned.

“I didn’t ask you to heal me,” he growled.

“No,” the King said, “and yet, I did, and here you are. But as you do speak the truth, I will have some mercy on you. My request in exchange for you life is that you serve me to the best of your ability until the end of your days. And before you open your sweet little mouth to protest, consider that, as Monica has so helpfully informed me, you’ve been serving me and my cause for years. Haven’t you, Cor?”

That left him just as stunned, because he _had_ been about to protest, and suddenly found he could only open his mouth, but no words came out other than quiet stutters.

“You will be a fine fit for my Crownsguard,” the King said. “Or did you really think you would be able to return to Niflheim, after what you’ve done?”

That, he could not deny, and he finally remembered himself and bowed again, lowering his gaze. “No, Your Majesty, I… do not. And it seems I have no other choice.” After all, were he to leave, what would he do? He had nowhere to go. The King was, as much as he hated to admit it, right on all accounts. “It would be an honor to serve you.” He said the words, though he didn’t feel them. He was too baffled to be honest.

Ardyn grinned and clasped his hands as he stared down at Cor. “Good,” he said. “And I think Marshal is a much more fitting title for you than Captain ever was. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Cor agreed, hesitantly, “Your Majesty.”


End file.
